


The Last Dance

by remy71923



Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Divergence - Avengers: Endgame (Movie), F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-Canon Fix-It, romanogers - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:55:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24168439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/remy71923/pseuds/remy71923
Summary: "How he wishes he could give anything to make that dance not their last."Rummaging through a pile of rubble that was once the Compound, Steve found the one remembrance he could ever have of her, bringing him back to their last dance, on their final night, on their final moment together.
Relationships: Steve Rogers & Natasha Romanov, Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 24
Kudos: 96





	The Last Dance

**Author's Note:**

> was debating on whether or not to post this little piece i've written just today, because i swear this fic was really just borne out of my ~sad girl~ hours HAHAAHA. i based this oneshot on two filipino songs, both of which have heart-wrenching messages and themes of "a last dance". an idea popped in my head when the two songs popped in my playlist, and i just felt the need to write it into words. but even if you're not filipino, though, i hope you'll still enjoy this fic i've written!
> 
> to my filo readers: this is based on eraserhead's "ang huling el bimbo" and kamikazee's "huling sayaw". highly recommend you listen to the cast of ang huling el bimbo (the musical)'s version of the song, and to the acoustic version of huling sayaw. listen to it while reading for added feelings ! HAHAHAH

He cradles them in his hands as if they're fragile, like it could break at any moment, like it could disappear and turn to dust at any moment and slip away from his fingers forever like how she had. He lets the tips of his fingers touch the soft leather on the surface, letting his fingers graze past the leather cracks.

He lets his fingers hover over them, though, those small and rough leather cracks, as if it's the only ever existing sign of this pair being used over and over again for the last couple of years since she's gotten them. As if it's the only ever living reminder of her, because everything else she owned is now gone, all burnt down to the ground and buried in rubble and debris save for this pair of pointe shoes, both of which are kept in a small and solid box that's half-burnt, yet somehow miraculously survived the catastrophe that erased every bit of living reminder they had of her.

Save for this one. Save for this pair of familiar, pale pink pointe shoes he had managed to retrieve from the pile of rubble.

His chest constricts, and his throat tightens. He feels the corners of his eyes stinging, eyes already starting to fill with tears as his chin quivers. He purses his lips and shuts his eyes tight, feeling the wave of grief and heaviness washing over him once again, the fresh wave of his own memories of her wearing this pair of shoes crashing over him without warning. He remembers it so clearly, imagining her so vividly in his mind—her wavy hair tied to half-ponytail braid, the beautiful smile she had on her face, and the feel of her soft and smooth skin under his palm.

And the pair of shoes she is wearing on her feet, paired with the rare sound of her soft and melodious laughter that would always make him smile in return, one that would always make his heart leap all of a sudden, both in surprise and giddiness because of how rare he had heard her laugh for the last few years.

He should've made her laugh more. He should've made her smile more.

_"Eyes on me, soldier, not on your feet."_

"Cap, you found something?"

Steve releases a breath as he looks up and finds Sam looking down at him, dusting his hands and shaking it as he looks at what Steve is holding in his hands. Steve watches as his jaw clenches, the corners of his eyes sloping downwards, and he shifts his gaze to meet Steve's eyes as well, his lips pursing together as he nods over at the pair of shoes he had been holding in his hands.

"It's not damaged?" he asks quietly, and Steve shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak, not trusting his voice to come out as stable. "It's the only one undamaged, then. We couldn't find anything else that's not torn or half-burnt already."

He was honestly hesitant at first, when Rhodey had suggested they come down to the Compound—or what _once_ was the Compound—to retrieve whatever pieces of files or things they could probably recover from the rubble, if there would be any. It was a long-shot, Rhodey admitted, for them to be able to find anything remotely intact of any files and equipment that might have been spared from the explosion, but he nevertheless wanted to try. He wanted to see if there was anything left, any bit of file or reference they could use to possibly rebuild a newer team with whoever is left alive, or had not chosen to retire from avenging. He wanted to see if there were any bits and pieces that could give him a bit of a remembrance of the old team.

But Steve knew the man better, too. He knew he wanted to go back to the site for something more, which was precisely why Steve had been hesitant to go with them as well. What if there wasn't anything left to find? What if there was nothing left? Nothing of the team, and nothing of her? They'd go there and look at piles of rubble, debris, dust and ashes, yet find nothing of the team, nothing of what the Avengers used to be, and nothing of her?

He wasn't ready for that—the possibility of finding out that there was absolutely nothing left of her in this world anymore. It was the last thing he'd ever want to face, and he had to face it once already.

Steve barely hears Sam sigh and turn around, calling for the others to tell them that he's found nothing. He barely hears the team second his claim as well, while each of them walk towards them when Sam silently nods over at Steve sitting on the pile of rubble, eyes wide, glazed and lost as he mindlessly runs his fingers across the surface of the shoes. They don't say anything, either, when they see what Steve is holding. They don't say a word on how quiet he'd become, and how seemingly at peace he looked as he cradles them carefully in his hands.

It's as if he's holding her in that way. It's as if he's holding her so delicately, so carefully, so as to not hurt her and so as to not break her. Insofar, as from what everyone understands too, though, he practically is holding the last of her. He's holding in his hands the last remembrance of Natasha Romanoff, the heart and soul of the team, and whose heart and soul, too, they knew belonged to Steve as well.

Even if she never said it. Even if he never said it aloud. But they knew. They all knew.

_"Do you trust me?" she asked._

_"Of course, I do." he said. He always did. He always had, which was why he gave her everything he could, but he should've given more._

_"Then look at me."_

He looks up at them after a few moments, meeting each and every one of his teammates' sad gazes and sympathetic looks. He would normally snap at this, would normally feel the slight flair of irritation at the fact that he's on the other end of a pitiful look, when it was not only him who is still mourning, when it was not only him who is still stricken with guilt and grief. He would normally snap lightly at them, drive himself away from their gazes and their sympathy. He would normally say something else, talk about something else that's not her, so for once, he could go away with being the subject of the others' sympathy, and allow himself to run away from the grief still occupying his heart even just for a little while.

_"I think I've got it." he said, to which she responded with a soft and teasing smile._

_"You think you've got it?" she asked, and he chuckled._

_"I think I've got you."_

Steve stands, clutching the pair of pointe shoes near his chest. Today, he doesn't snap away from them, nor does he allow himself to drive away from their gaze and their sympathy, because it would mean he was snapping himself away from her, and he can't. Not when he's holding the last piece of her in his arms. Instead, he looks at them, meets their eyes, accepts that he is on the other end of their sympathy and sad gazes.

"Let's go home."

* * *

He still holds them in his hands even as he goes back to the new makeshift facility they have as a "new" team. He'd look for a new place soon, given that he was planning to retire and pass the shield on after his final mission of returning the stones, but for now, there he is, alone in his small room, sitting on the edge of his bed, fingertips grazing over the surface of her shoes absentmindedly. His mind isn't really flying anywhere, his heart empty and aching, and reaching for wherever she would be.

She could be looking down at him and watching him, and he imagines she might have this teasing look and expression on her face, ready to shoot a quip at him at how old and sentimental he's becoming, and how he has to put her shoes down at some point—wash it and clean it from the dust and rubble, put it down on the floor because shoes aren't meant to be held, but rather to be used.

But nobody is gonna be using it anytime soon, isn't there?

There's a soft knock on the door, and when he looks up, he finds Wanda opening the door slightly, peeking through as if almost shyly. He gives her a small nod, and the younger woman opens the door further, allowing herself in the room before closing the door behind her. "You didn't come to eat." she says quietly, eyes landing on the pair of shoes in his hands.

Steve looks away and shakes his head, not saying anything further. Wanda gives a small nod, tentatively taking a few steps as she crosses the room and sits beside him on his bed. She looks at the shoes in his hands, then looks back at him. "When was the last time?" she asks softly. "The last time she danced using those shoes?"

He'd seen the question coming. And in all honesty, he thought of the question as unnecessary. He had been thinking of the last time she used these shoes all day since he found the pair from the Compound, and all Wanda had to do was look through his head and see it for herself. He's almost tempted to give her permission to do so, too, if it would spare him to speak, fearing he can't, fearing he'd break once he starts to speak of it.

But he doesn't do that. He doesn't give Wanda the permission, the privilege to watch the moment for herself. That moment is one of the few things he has of her now, and if he could allow himself to be selfish for once, he wouldn't want to share the full, rich and vivid memory of that precise moment to anybody else. He wants it to stay between them, just for that to be his, and his alone.

Her soft smile, the way she closed her eyes, leaning her head and resting it over his chest. The way he held her close by her waist, his lips pressed over her head. The way they gently swayed with the soft and gentle music.

He wants all of it to be just his.

So he does his best to speak, giving himself a few more moments to find the voice stuck in his throat, to take a shaky breath amidst his constricted chest. "The night before the Heist," he says quietly, voice faltering and breaking at the mention of the Heist. He purses his lips tightly together, giving himself a few more moments to compose himself, gather what's left of him, so he wouldn't break right then and there. "She was dancing…to ease the nerves, she said." He paused and clenched his jaw, the corners of his lips quirking downwards as he bows his head, his bottom lip wobbling. "I found her, stayed for a while to watch, until she caught me watching her…"

_"Even after all these years, you still move and walk so heavily," she quipped teasingly, turning back and facing him completely as he chuckled and shook his head. She smirked. "Thought I taught you the art of being sneaky, Rogers. You were almost an expert at it already."_

_"I wasn't trying to be sneaky," he responded lightly with a smile as she chuckled. "I just wanted to watch you dance."_

_Her lips quirked into a small, soft and sincere smile, and she walked over to him, her hips swaying gracefully, her steps light and feathery akin to that of a true ballet dancer's. "What if you'd dance with me instead?" she asked._

"She asked me to dance with her," Steve continues quietly with a small nod. "Tried to say no for the first few times, but…" He lets out a soft and quiet chuckle, making the corner of Wanda's lips quirk upwards slightly into a small and sad smile. "You know how she is when she tries to get what she wants."

How could he fully describe the look on her face, the pieces of her that had managed to stick to his heart. Natasha was beautiful, always had been beautiful since the first time he laid his eyes on her. To anybody else, Natasha looks stern and blank, eyes cold, stare piercing and intimidating, shoulders squared, fists clenched and stance stiff and firm; but to him, she is the complete opposite of all of those things, her face open, vulnerable and soft as a bruise. Sometimes he would catch her looking at him as if he were the point in which all the universe revolved, as if he was the biggest mystery she had ever encountered in her life, or as if he were a flame that she couldn't not look at even though she was scared. Most of the time, with him, it would all disappear into carelessness, a carefree and childlike attitude with bouts of confidence and amusement, as if she didn't need anything or anyone else on this earth to make her feel happy and alive.

It was precisely the way she looked that night, the moment he conceded to her request, when she held his big hands in her small ones, and pulled her in the middle of the training room. His laughter mixed with hers, the joint sound of which echoing inside the room, the sound of it almost akin to children's giddy laughter, and it should, because it was precisely how they felt like. They felt like a pair of schoolchildren, ready to play right after school, ready to tease and joke around, right after a grueling day of classes. They felt normal and light, for once not minding the weight of the world on their shoulders, and just focused on each other as they stopped in middle of the room.

Not for the first time, Steve wondered what it might have been like—them meeting in another, more normal, universe. How things might have gone between them. How different their lives might have been then.

"I remember that. She'd been teasing you that she will teach you how to dance since way before," Wanda adds softly, and Steve lets out a quiet chuckle as he nods and sniffles, and Wanda smiles sadly. "You finally took up her offer."

_They laughed. They mostly laughed than danced during the first part, did more awkward, rough and off-beat swaying than proper and graceful dancing in the first few minutes. She kept on urging him to keep his eyes off of their feet, and to keep it locked on hers. And as much as he tried to lock his eyes on hers, all he ever did was lower his head, gaze fixed on the pair of pale pink pointe shoes she had been wearing, as if careful not to step on her and hurt her._

_"You could never hurt me," she told him, her voice soft and light as her smile when he finally looked up at her face. "Do you trust me?" she asked._

_"Of course, I do." he told her softly, making her smile widen, as if she was still surprised. He wondered why she was still surprised, though, and it hurt him how she still thought that there might have been a chance that he hadn't._

_"Then look at me." she said._

_He did. He looked at her. He looked at her, and for a moment, he swore he saw his entire universe in her eyes._

"I should've taken it up earlier," he says quietly, shaking his head as his gaze lands on the shoes resting on his lap. "I should've danced more with her earlier."

He should've done a lot of things with her earlier, said more things to her earlier, showed her more of how he felt to her before it had been too late, and before she had gone.

That night, he supposes there had been a long moment between them that might have gone differently. Of all the times and moments they've spent together, within the five years and even before that, that evening's moment—when it was just the two of them dancing in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the other, swaying gently and slowly with the soft music enveloping them—that's the picture that is most stamped into his soul. It's the two of them, for the first time in five years, carefree—albeit still jumbled, confused and broken apart into pieces—just dancing and holding each other in the middle of the room, thousands of words that are left unsaid hanging above them, yet each word being screamed loudly and clearly as each moment passes, and the longer they stayed together in each other's arms. It wasn't long until they inched themselves closer together, not long until their faces were merely inches away from each other, yet both of them somehow unaware of this moment happening between them.

Wanda nods, swallowing the lump in her throat as she does her best to block off as much noise and aura she is hearing that is coming out of his mind. She can hear the soft lull of the music of that night, can hear the soft murmurs, as she blocks out much of it, knowing very well Steve is greedy with the memory, especially as it was their last, especially as it was the most precious one of all.

_"Are you scared?" she asked him quietly, and he furrowed his eyebrows slightly in question and confusion, as she gave him a small smile in return. "About tomorrow. About what we're gonna do tomorrow—are you scared?"_

_He nodded after a moment's hesitation, of identifying what it was he really felt about the Heist, of whether or not to tell her the truth of his fear or not. "I'm scared it might go differently," he admitted. "That we might lose things more than what we could bargain for, that we might…lose."_

_Natasha nodded and pursed her lips tightly together. He could see it too, how scared she was, how openly she was showing him of her fears even without saying it out loud to him. "If tomorrow, things might go differently…" she trailed off, and he shook his head._

_He contemplated on what to say next, what to say to her without lying, without having to tell things he wasn't certain of. So he held her close, closer against his chest as she rested her head on his chest. He watched as her eyes closed, felt her grip on his hand tighten, her other arm wrapping and pulling him closer towards her. "Then let's make tonight last," he told her quietly, pressing his lips on her head and closing his eyes. "Let's make this dance last."_

How he wishes he could give anything to make that dance not their last.

Steve's heart ached wildly, so painfully constricting and squeezing, at the memory of it—their final dance, their final night, their final moment together. His chin wobbled, bottom lip quivering as he shook his head, finally letting loose the tears he had been holding back in his eyes as he let out a quiet sob. "I should've said more," he says, his voice cracking and breaking, his vision blurring as he feels the hot tears flowing down his face. He barely notices Wanda's hand on his back, soothing him while she held back tears of her own. "That night, it was…it was as if she knew, and I should've…I should've known, and I should've…I should've told her more, I should've done more, and I…" Steve shakes his head as he lets out another sob, sniffling as he takes a shaky breath, pulling her pair of shoes closer to his chest. "I should've told her. I should've…"

_Should've told her I loved her. Should've told her it was her whom I loved. Whom I love._

Wanda purses her lips and nods understandingly, and after a few moments of letting herself compose, she licks her lips and nods. "She knew," she tells him quietly, and Steve turns his head to look up at the younger woman as Wanda looks down at her lap. "She always knew."

It would've been different, Steve thinks, if the words had actually come out of his lips, if she had actually heard them live. What he would give to see the way she would react if he had, and if she did know. Would she smile? Would she laugh? How would her laugh sound like? Would her eyes sparkle like how it always would whenever she would look at him, or will it be brighter, thus indeed mirroring the universe in her eyes? What would she say, if she were to say anything? What would she do, if she were to do something?

Would things have gone differently? Would the mission change? Would she still be here?

_"I think we really both need to get a life." he quipped, murmuring against her hair while she chuckled, feeling the rumble against his chest as she buried her face further. He smiled, running his hand over her back._

_"You first, after this." she said softly, and he chuckled._

It should've been the both of them after all of it. How was it that he was the only one left standing?

Wanda slips out of his room a few minutes after, and after a couple more, he puts her shoes down, putting it down on the floor, tying the ribbons together neatly, and placing it beside his own pair of shoes. He gets himself ready for bed, washing up and changing his clothes before turning the lights off and crawling back to his bed.

He immerses himself in the memory of her, of the memory of the dream he once had of a life they would both live after everything. He dreams of holding her close, and of dancing with her. He dreams of many more moments where they would dance, each of them stretching for as long as it could last, each of them Steve would wish it wouldn't end.

He had always wanted to dance with her for every day of their lives, if he had gotten the chance. But just like how dreams usually are, those dreams of his melted away, and he could only dance with her forever in his dreams.

He would hold her close like how he did that night, and he wouldn't let go of her, knowing very well what had happened the last time he ever did. They would dance just like that, along the music they had played that evening, and it would last until morning comes and Steve would wake.

* * *

_2015, The Avengers Tower._

There's somebody watching her.

Nonetheless, she continues to dance, each movement measured and precise, each lift of an arm, each pointe, assemblé, pirouette and jeté well-executed and done perfectly on the beat, perfect with the rhythm of the soft music echoing in the room she had claimed as her own dance room in the Tower. Albeit her mindfulness to her dance, though, her mind is still alert for the unwelcome audience, one who is making himself most definitely known, if not for the way he is just leaning against the doorway of the room. She meets his gaze on the mirror in front of her, gives him a small smirk as she finishes her routine with a graceful series of pirouettes.

Said audience claps once she finishes, and she straightens herself as she looks up at him through the mirror. The corner of her mouth quirks upwards into a small smile. "Wanna dance with me?" she asks teasingly, knowing very well said audience will merely laugh and shrug it off, say no alongside a quip of a tease like how he usually does with her nowadays.

But said audience merely smiles, taking a few steps towards her as he nods. "Will you teach me?" he asks, his voice soft and his smile disarming, and she hums and turns around to face him, extending a hand over to him.

He takes it, giving her hand a light squeeze, and she smiles as she pulls him to the middle of the room. She skips over to where her phone is plugged in the stereo, and presses the screen, probably to choose a song to dance to. She plays a song, and when she turns to face him once again, she sees a small and sad smile playing on his lips as he looks at her.

For a second, she pauses, as if taken aback by how he looks and smiles at her. Nevertheless, she adjusts wipes the bead of sweat on her forehead using the sleeve of her shirt, and walks over back to him.

"You know where to place those?" she asks, and he lets out a soft laugh as he nods, taking her hand in one of his, as he places the other one on her hip. She chuckles, adjusting the hand higher as he hums and smiles, as if remembering that was where his hand should be and not where he had originally put it.

He looks down at their feet once they start swaying, and she smiles widely and laughs softly. "Eyes on me, soldier," she says softly, and Steve looks up at her and meets her gaze. He looks nervous, she notes, yet there's also a sense of security there, a sense of…knowing what he was doing. "Not on your feet. Just look at me."

He chuckles and shakes his head, his eyes fixed on hers. "Sorry. I'm scared I might step on your feet." he says, and she lets out a soft laugh as she continues to sway and lead them into a dance.

He might've been a better dancer than she had ever given him credit for, because even if she had not at all been telling him what to do, where to place his feet and where to step, he is already moving in sync with her. "You're more natural than I thought," she says with a teasing smile as he chuckles. "Never knew you could dance as well as you do, Cap."

He smiles at her, but there's something missing there in the way he smiles, and there's also a glint of something else in his eyes, as if distant and sad, like how he looked when she first played the music they were dancing to today. "Well, I do have the best teacher." he says softly, and she hums, smiling widely.

He later accidentally steps on her feet, about once or twice a few moments afterwards, but they merely laugh it off and fix it with a few adjustments and tips here and there. She allows a few more comfortable and silent moments, just regarding and observing him, and the way he dances and looks at her, the way he holds her close and not hesitantly. She purses her lips tightly and looks up at him, giving him a small smile. "You're not from here, are you?" she asks softly.

Steve's eyes widen, however it doesn't disrupt their dance, as she continues to lead them to it with the music. "What makes you say that?" he asks, and she lets out a soft chuckle.

"For starters, Steve just left with Sam and Rhodey for a mission Tony called for," she answers quietly. "You just left. I saw you to the jet before I went up here to dance."

Natasha had expected him to say something as a sort of defense, but instead she just watches as his eyes turn glassy, almost glazed as if tears are filling his eyes just looking at her. She watches his bottom lip wobble, his chin quiver slightly as he does his best to fight it off with a smile. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but nothing ever comes out. He squeezes her hip gently, tightening his hold on her hand ever so slightly, and she smiles up at him, licking her lips and pursing her lips before she decides to speak up.

"Steve?" she says his name softly, voice barely above a whisper, and gives him a sad smile when she sees a tear slip down his face, his chin only wobbling more at her mention of his name. She purses her lips and nods slightly, keeping the small and sad smile on her lips. "I died, didn't I?" she asks.

He doesn't respond. Not explicitly nor verbally so, anyway, but he responds with a small whimper, as few more tears slip down his face. They don't stop dancing, though, as he seemingly doesn't want that. She gets that feeling, too, how wherever and whenever this Steve might have come from, it is indeed the Steve Rogers she knows, and he had come to her for this—for this dance, for them to have this dance.

"How?" she whispers, but Steve just shakes his head slightly in response. "Was it good, then? When it happened, did I…" she trails off, afraid to hear the response, yet feeling the need to hear it. She feels like she shouldn't be knowing all of these, especially if it's true that this Steve is a Steve from the future who, for some odd reason, had come back in time to dance with her.

But then again, she had always known it was going to end. She just had to know if it would be a good one, if it would be worth it in the end.

Steve swallows the lump in his throat as he nods, in confirmation to her question, as if to say yes, her death had amounted to something, to something good, to something good enough to save someone and be able to redeem herself from the things she had done. She nods, then, and gives Steve a comforting smile. "Goodness comes with a price." she says softly with a light shrug, but Steve shakes his head almost too quickly.

"It's too high a price," he whispers, voice breaking in the end that breaks Natasha's heart in pieces. "Your life was too high a price."

Natasha shakes her head, giving him a smile as she lifts her hands to cup his face, using her thumbs to wipe away the tears on his face. She wants to say more, wants to tell him that she'd always thought things would end up as so—her life in exchange for the good, because it would be how she'd want to go. She wants to ask him more, for him to tell her more, but is also scared of the prospect of her having to go, and her leaving him as upset and heartbroken as he is that he decides to go back in years.

For just one dance, one she's not even sure why he'd come back for.

"It was the last thing that we did," he says quietly, as if reading her thoughts, a small smile playing on his lips. "We danced. It was the last thing we did before…" She purses her lips and nods, and he takes a shaky breath. "I hope…I hope you don't mind—"

"No," she says with a smile, holding his hand in hers once again as she inches herself closer towards him. "Then let's make this one last, yeah?" Steve's bottom lip wobbles, but he still nods, his hold around her tightening as she pulls her closer towards him. Natasha gives him a smile before resting her head on his chest, humming when she feels him kiss her hand in his. "We don't have all day, soldier."

No. No, they don't.

**Author's Note:**

> comments, reviews and kudos appreciated! would appreciate if the comments and reviews are nice, too, of course. :) stay tuned also for my other works!
> 
> in case you're not filipino, and curious of the song inspiration, here's an "ang huling el bimbo" english translation: https://fallen-aster.blogspot.com/2013/08/ang-huling-el-bimbo-last-el-bimbo.html


End file.
